Cursed Blood
by Hikaru Morinaga
Summary: [Post Fuuin] Roy has a very important pendant. Blair wants it so he can fulfill his dead master's wish. It's not just something his mother gave him, it's the fate of Elibe that depends on it. Blair could cause chaos with it. Roy wants to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

**Cursed Blood**

**Author's Notes:** This is one of the fanfics I've been working on for a while. After being on a writer's block for it, I finally got chapter one done. So, here it is, in all it's splendour. Or something.

It's post-Fuuin, and as you can see in the first paragraph, it takes place two (almost three) years after Zephiel is killed.

- - -

Two years had passed since Zephiel was defeated and peace was restored. Two years had passed since Roy placed the Divine Weapons and the Sword of Seals back where they belonged, and returned the red gem known as the Fire Emblem to Guinevere, Bern's queen. Two years had passed since the Lycian Alliance Army returned home and attempted to restore their lands trampled on by the war.

If one had visited Pherae, they would have seen immense progress in the restoration efforts. Builders put up trampled fences or new homes made from brick and wood with thatched roofs to complete them. Pherae's farming industry was almost completely recovered as well; the shortage of livestock was the only thing keeping it from being one hundred percent.

The sun was setting, signifying the end of the work day, and the townspeople put down their tools and went to their homes to eat and get a good night's sleep, for tomorrow they would be done with the building. The sky turned a dark blue streaked with pinks, oranges, purples, and reds; a truly beautiful sight to all those who stuck around to watch it. The stars, one by one, came out and started to twinkle, and a gentle breeze rustled through the brush and the treetops, scattering yellow, red, and brown leaves into the air and down to the ground.

Castle Pherae was relatively quiet, which wasn't unusual at that time of night. The maids were preparing their lord's and master's beds for sleep, pulling the covers back to the edge of the bed and folding them in half. Once the pillows were fluffed and everything was the way it was supposed to be, they left and walked down the three flights of stairs to the Servants' Quarters to prepare their own beds and, hopefully, sleep.

Roy stifled a yawn as he walked up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom, a lit candle in his hand, casting ghastly shadows along the tapestry-covered walls as they moved. He wasn't alone; his best friend and adviser, Wolt, was accompanying him. The young man opened his bedroom door and stepped inside the room; Wolt walked around him and over to his master's bed to light the candle lamp beside it. Roy closed the door and placed the candle in the holder on the wall to shed more light into the room.

"Do you need anything else, Master Roy?" the archer asked as his best friend took his tunic and undershirt off.  
"No," Roy answered, yawning once again as he dropped his clothes into the wicker laundry basket the laundry maid would pick up in the morning, "that's all." As Wolt walked over to the door to take his leave, he noticed a mark that was shaped like a dragon--outlined by raised skin, like a brand of some sort. He figured it wasn't his place to ask about it.  
"Oh, before you go, Wolt..."  
Wolt immediately turned around and faced his master, bowing slightly as he did so, and almost fell over.  
"Yes, Master Roy?"  
Roy mentally rolled his eyes.  
"Will you _please_ stop calling me 'Master Roy'?"  
Wolt crossed his arms.  
"We've been over this before, Master Roy, and my answer will always be the same. It's--"  
"--the rules," Roy finished, and slipped into his pajama pants. "But we're practically _brothers_."  
"Rules are rules, Master Roy."

Roy thought of an idea at that moment. Rules could easily be broken if they were ordered to be.  
"You have to follow my orders, correct?" He watched Wolt nod and scratch his eyes, the boy must have been tired, and wanted to go to bed.  
"Of course, Master Roy."  
With a grin, Roy crossed his arms and said, "I _order_ you to stop calling me 'Master Roy'." The general picked up his pajama shirt and pushed his arms into the sleeves.  
"Yes Ma--...Roy," Wolt replied and noticed his master having difficulty with the buttons on the shirt. "Do you want my help with that?"

Without another word, Wolt walked over to the future marquess and hooked the buttons through the holes, undoing the ones Roy mismatched ("I don't understand why Father keeps giving me shirts with _buttons_ when they make ones with fastens instead," Roy complained), and smoothed the shirt out when he was done.  
"If that's all," Wolt said, "I'll be taking my leave." The green haired archer walked over to the candle by the door and extinguished it, a plume of smoke left in its wake. Turning the doorknob, he opened the door and walked out.  
"Good night, Mast--Roy," Wolt said, stumbling over his words.  
_This'll take some getting used to_, Wolt thought, hand on the doorknob still.  
"Good night, Wolt," the occupant of the room replied, blowing a kiss. Wolt smiled, made an action that looked like he caught it, and closed the door. He stretched, yawned (received a glare from one of the veteran guards of the castle on his way to his post), and walked to his own room to rest his tired eyes.

From the other side of the door, Roy heard it close with a clicking sound and realised he was alone at last. He stretched his arms, sore from sparring with General Cecilia that day, climbed into bed, pulled the covers over himself, and removed the leather-bound book from its place on his nightstand. In the dim and flickering light of the candle, he could just make out the gold-turned-brown lettering that said "Photo Album" on it and opened it to a certain page. It was automatic for him to turn to that page, for it had his favourite picture: a family portrait taken on his sixth birthday.  
Aside from the necklace he never took off and Mr. Bunny, his stuffed bunny that his mother gave him for his fourth birthday (that he still slept with, and no one except his father knew he still did), the pictures were all he had left of his mother.

He barely remembered her anymore.

Before he knew it, his eyes closed, and no matter how hard he tried to keep them open, he was defeated, and he fell asleep, album still open.

- - -

Eliwood couldn't sleep; he found it hard to sleep when he had a bad cough, as he did then, and often retreated to his study to do work (which he hated), read, or just sit there and think. So he sat in his poorly lit study and looked at his photo album, which was a lot thicker than the one Roy had, sipping lemon-flavoured tea every now and then. He sighed as he remininsed, looking at pictures of his wedding to Ninian, random pictures of just the two of them and how happy they looked (_And_, thought Eliwood, _how young I look_). Passing those pictures, he came across pictures of them as a family. He removed one particular photo, one where Ninian was hugging Roy and smiling. Roy was six at that time, Eliwood remembered. His sixth birthday was the last one Ninian saw...

He put the photo back and shut the album with a slam, placing it on the table next to the armchair he was sitting in. Even after almost twelve years, it still hurt to remember she never got to see her son turn into a man...  
He pushed all those thoughts out of his head and finished his tea, relishing the last bit of warmth it offered. It was no use crying over it.  
Eliwood realised Roy's eighteenth birthday was the next day and dreaded it. That was the day Eliwood would have to tell Roy about the brand on his back, about his true heritage, and about that necklace he could never take off (his mother told him so). He promised Ninian on her death bed he would, and he never broke a promise.

He just didn't know how to tell him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cursed Blood**

**Author's Notes:** And this is chapter two. This is only the beginning. Feedback is encouraged.

Oh, and Blair's mine. I really have no set personality in mind for him as of now, but he'll get one later on, I promise. He creeps me out, though.

- - -

The laundry maid opened Roy's bedroom door and walked inside to retrieve his dirty clothes. She noticed the candle lamp was still lit and went over to blow it out. Upon doing so, she saw the album on his lap and closed it, removing it as she did so, and placed it on his bedside table. Once that was done, she went over to the wicker basket, picked the contents of it up, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

A few hours later, someone knocked on his door, and in response, he turned onto his back and stayed asleep. The person knocked again, this time louder, and Roy stayed asleep, not even registering the knock. Finally, after several more tries, the person gave up and opened the door enough to cautiously peek inside. Seeing Roy was fully clothed and still asleep, the figure sighed and opened the door fully, thought it was not proper to leave his master's bed chambers in view of any passerby. Closing the door behind him, he took it upon himself to gather Roy's wardrobe together, and so he did, picking out a set of clothes reserved for special occasions. Draping them over his arm, he walked over to the side of the bed and gently shook the red head in the hopes that he would wake up.  
Nothing. He shook him a bit more and whispered, "Master Roy, it's time to wake up," and got a response that was not befitting a duke.  
"Master Roy," the archer said as loud as possible, "if Sir Marcus was present, he'd have a fit with that kind of language! Now _get up_!"

Roy eventually sat up and yawned, covering his mouth as he did so. He muttered, "Excuse me," afterward as etiquette required.  
"What's with the clothes?" the red head questioned sleepily, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and cracked his back, rubbing the sore muscles with his hands.  
"You mean to tell me that you don't know what today is?" Wolt asked, answering Roy's question with one of his own.  
"Well, it can't be Father's birthday because that was last week."  
Wolt sighed and handed Roy his pants, which Roy took and put on while Wolt looked the other way.  
"There's a banquet for it," the archer hinted, and handed Roy his undershirt. Roy pulled the white fabric down after getting his arms and head through.

"It must be pretty formal if there's a banquet for it," Roy mused, taking his burgundy shirt and pulling it over the white one. "Just tell me what the occasion is. I have a right to know, after all, don't I?"  
Wolt merely nodded his head and helped Roy button up the gold tunic he was required to wear to look presentable for such a formal occasion.  
"It's your _birthday_," the green headed archer told his companion as-a-matter-of-factly, "your _eighteenth_ birthday. Lord Eliwood told me to get you up, and so I did, obviously." Wolt told Roy all about the banquet, such as who was going to be there and what not, while fastening Roy's cape to the front of his tunic.  
"Your father also considers this as your formal engagement party as well."

Roy sat down on his bed as he fastened his boots, tightening the buckles so they wouldn't slip off easily.  
"Does he now?" After making sure he looked presentable enough ("Master Roy, you're forgetting your headband," Wolt said, running after his master with the aforementioned object in hand), he walked down the hallway and down two flights of stairs.

- - -

All was going according to plan. The announcement of Lilina's engagement to Roy went over quite well, though a lot of young duchesses looked upset at the announcement that the man they had their eyes set on was affianced. Eliwood sat back in his seat and relaxed; he thought of several ways to tell Roy about everything, but none of them sounded right, they weren't informative, they beat around the bush, and the one way made it sound as if he were ashamed of his son's mixed blood (of which he was not ashamed). He sighed. Talking to Roy about everything was as hard as it was when it came time to give him The Talk; he mostly avoided the subject or gave answers that did nothing but bring up more questions.

Wolt watched Roy and Lilina dance and giggled at Roy's attempt to keep up with his partner, which led to stumbling, stepping on toes, and mixing dance styles. Wolt covered his mouth and turned away to look at the crowd of people. He could tell anyone who was anyone was there; the young ladies and women had their hair done up in elaborate and, at times, ridiculous styles, their faces covered in more cosmetics than a woman in a Lycian brothel in an attempt to perhaps woo the Marquess Pherae or some other dignitary. The men wore respectable outfits, although most of them acted quite snotty as if they were better than everyone else there. Wolt hated people who acted like the latter; who gives _them_ the right to act all high and mighty? Just once he would like to knock one of them off their high horse, but it was not his place to do so, and his master and lord would not be happy.

He overheard a man talking to a young girl he assumed was his daughter. She looked reluctant to dance or even socialise, and Wolt thought she was no younger than perhaps twelve. She was a pretty little thing with dark hair and a overly frilly pink dress that made her look like a china doll. Wolt walked on by, looking around for anyone suspicious who might try to ruin the evening.

A man approached Alan and Lance and asked them a simple question: "Where's Master Roy Pherae?"  
Lance narrowed his eyes, suspicious of this man.  
"And you might be?" the green haired Paladin asked.  
The man, who had dark hair and golden eyes replied, "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Blair, I've come in Queen Guinevere's stead."  
Alan waved Roy over and showed him the dark haired man.  
"Can I help you?" Roy asked as Lance and Alan stayed very close to their master.  
"So you're Roy," Blair said, looking him up and down. Lance held Roy's arm so he wouldn't be able to go anywhere.  
"Yeah...and you might be?"

The man smiled and brushed his hair out of his eyes.  
"My name is Blair. Queen Guinevere sent me in her place because she is involved with a very important meeting and couldn't miss it. She told me to give you her regards." They shook hands, and the whole time Blair looked at him in a way that totally creeped him out.  
"And," Blair added, as he turned to walk away, "I want to know exactly how you defeated Zephiel." Roy raised an eyebrow and shrugged, thinking nothing was suspicious about his request.  
When Blair was out of earshot, Lance said, "There's something odd about that man."  
"Do you think so?" Roy asked, putting his hands on his hips. "He looked at me kind of odd, but I didn't think it was because he had some kind of malevolent motive or anything."

- - -

At last, the banquet was over after several hours. Roy was exhausted and stifled a yawn. He toyed with a clump of hair, twisting it around his finger and then untwisting it, and repeated this for several minutes before noticing that Blair had never left. Roy thought it a bit odd that Blair would stick around after the majority of guests had taken their leave, but perhaps he was waiting for an opportune moment to talk to him? Whatever the case was, he kept shooting the eighteen year old strange looks, looks he had never seen before but he was warned about. The looks he was getting meant nothing good.

"Ah, Lord Roy," Blair said as he sauntered over to where the red head was sitting and fingering a glass of wine, "now that all the guests are gone, you can tell me your little story." Blair eyed the necklace the young man was wearing and noticed something odd about it.  
"Well, there's really nothing I can say except that I defeated King Zephiel with a lot of help from the rest of my comrades."  
Blair laughed and sat down in a chair next to the general, propping his head up with his arm.  
"So modest! Everyone tells me you single-handedly took down the great King of Bern with the Sword of Seals."  
Roy avoided the man's gaze and said nothing.

"Funny thing, that sword. The only person who can pull that has to have the Fire Emblem, a mastery of the blade, and--" here he paused as he continued to stare at Roy's necklace, "Dragon...blood." He moved closer to the red head and grabbed the stone pendant that hung from the chain around his neck.  
"Do you know what this is?" Blair asked, fingering the stone as if it were a precious artifact.  
Roy shook his head.  
"No, I don't. My father never told me, though he was supposed to as soon as the guests all--"  
"This is a Dragonstone, a special kind that only someone with Dragon blood could possess! It is the only stone that can open the Dragon's Gate and free the Dragons into our world..." Blair's eyes gazed fondly at it, and he began caressing it.  
"At last," he whispered, "I found it. His Majesty would be proud..."

Roy had no idea what this man was talking about, and decided it would be best to get up and leave, but not before telling Alan and Lance that some crazy guy was going on and on about how his pendant could bring the Dragons to Elibe.  
"Well, I think I heard my father calling for me, and I must go and see what he needs." Roy stood up abruptly, pulling Blair's hand away from the red head's necklace.  
"Lord Roy," he said just as the duke turned to leave, "I must have that pendant. It is, ah...something that belongs to the Queen, you see, and--"  
Roy span on his heel, his cape swishing around his ankles as he did so.  
"That's a lie," Roy said, his voice low. "My mother gave this to me before she passed away. It does _not_ belong to Queen Guinevere. You must be mistaken." He turned back around and walked away.

Blair's hands clenched into a fist. He was so close! So close and yet so far away now.  
"I must find a way to get that pendant, for it is the key that will make my Master's wishes come true at last."

- - -

Roy knocked on the door to his father's study thrice. He heard the turning of pages stop, and then silence.  
"Father?" Roy called out, turning the brass knob and opening the mahogany wood door enough to poke his head through. "It's me, Roy. May I?"  
Eliwood turned around in his chair and placed the book he was perusing in his lap.  
"Yes, Roy, come in." Eliwood marked the page he was on with a marker and placed it on the table next to the chair; he took his reading glasses off and placed them on top of the book.

Roy stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He walked over to one of the plush armchairs and sat down, right across from his father.  
"You wanted to speak to me?" Roy folded his hands and rested them on top of his knee, and crossed that leg over the other. Eliwood shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.  
"Yes, I did."  
"Is this about the necklace Mother gave me?" the eighteen year old asked, straightening himself in the chair.  
"...Among other things, yes," Eliwood answered, sipping at his tea-with-honey. "Now...please bear with me, as I really have no idea how to phrase any of this."

"That necklace you're wearing...your mother told you to never take it off, correct?"  
Roy nodded.  
"Why?" the youth questioned, absent-mindedly fingering it.  
"Because it's important for you not to. If it gets into the wrong hands, we'll end up repeating history again."  
"...'Repeating history'?"  
Eliwood paused to drink his tea, as his throat was getting dry.  
"We'll have another Scouring, in other words."  
"But why?"  
Eliwood thought of the best way to answer the question.  
"Because it's the key to the Dragon's Gate, that's why. And in the right hands, the portal will stay closed, as it was intentioned to.  
"But why do _I_ have the key? Why not someone else?"  
Eliwood shrugged.  
"If your mother were here, she would be able to answer it. But as it stands, she's not, and your guess is as good as mine." Eliwood actually knew the answer, and knew Roy would ask again. He would wait until Roy was a little older (or persistent, whichever came first) before revealing the true answer.

There was an awkward pause as Eliwood collected his thoughts for the next topic.  
"There's another thing I have to tell you, well, two things, actually, but they coincide with each other." Roy nodded, gesturing his father to continue.  
"You are not a full blooded Pheraean."  
Roy's eyes widened, and he moved to the edge of his seat.  
"Wha-What? What do you _mean_ I'm not a full blooded Pheraean?" Eliwood sighed and knew Roy would react this way.  
"Well, you're actually--"

There was a commotion going on outside the door, shouting, cursing, and fighting. Eliwood stood up to see what was going on. Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a very out of breath Lance and a very murderous looking Alan trying to get near a very peeved looking Blair.  
"So this is how Lord Eliwood's vassals act towards guests?" Blair asked. "How pathetic."  
Alan tried to break free of Lance's grip and almost succeeded when Roy stepped in between the two.  
"Alan, control yourself!" Roy scolded, hands on his hips, brows furrowed. "He's our _guest_. Be nice!"  
Blair smirked and scoffed.  
"My apologies, Blair, but these two are actually _my_ vassals and not my father's. Which means they're _my_ responsibility," Roy said, and glared at Alan as he said the last sentence.

Blair waved his hand and dismissed it as if it were nothing.  
"Oh, it's nothing, Lord Roy, I'm _hardly_ offended." Neither Alan, Lance, nor Roy could tell if what Blair said was meant to be sarcastic or not, but they dismissed it as being serious and said nothing.  
"Alan, Lance," Roy said, nodding to the both of them, "please guide Sir Blair to his guest room for sleep. He will be _staying_ here." Alan and Lance reluctantly agreed, and led Blair off to the room he was to be staying in.  
"I'm sorry, Father," Roy said as he leaned against the door jamb.  
Eliwood ran a hand through his graying hair and chuckled.  
"Father?"  
"Oh, it's alright, Roy," Eliwood said, smiling. "It's just...you reminded me so much of myself when I was your age. All apologetic and serious. Just don't be serious _all_ the time or you'll end up getting old before your time." Roy smiled back and stifled a yawn.

With a glance to the grandfather clock, Eliwood remarked, "It's late, and you should be going to sleep by now."  
Roy shrugged and stayed where he was as Eliwood neared him.  
"I'll tell you the rest tomorrow. It's not so important that you need to lose sleep over it." He embraced the youth tightly, and Roy returned the gesture.  
"I can't believe you're eighteen," Eliwood mumbled into Roy's hair, relishing the time he was spending with his son. "It seems like yesterday you were born."  
"Daaad," Roy said, giving him a look that said, "Don't start with that stuff _now_".  
"But I knew you would grow up eventually. And look at you, you're eighteen and ready to settle down with Lilina..."  
There was a short pause.  
"Your mother would have been so happy."

Roy pulled away and resumed leaning against the door frame, eying his father in the dim light.  
"...Would Mother have been proud of me?" Roy asked, and for a second, Eliwood swore he sounded like a child.  
"Of course she would have," Eliwood replied, crossing his arms. "...And I'm proud of you, too."  
When Eliwood looked at Roy just then, he didn't see his son, but instead saw himself.  
"And you're definitely my son." Roy laughed.  
"Well, I look and act like you, so I guess it would make perfect sense, wouldn't it?" He grinned and turned to leave.  
Eliwood gave Roy one last hug, this time grasping him from behind, and kissed him on the cheek.  
"I hope you had a nice birthday," he said, ruffling his son's hair.  
"I did." Roy didn't really want to leave, and was reluctant to. He pulled away.  
"I love you," his father said, and kissed him again.  
"I love you, too, Father," Roy replied, and returned the favour.  
"Good night, Roy," Eliwood said.  
"G'night, Dad," Roy answered, and walked down the hall and up a flight of stairs to his room.

"...Ninian, if only you could see him now."


	3. Chapter 3

**- Three -**

It started off just like any other day at Castle Pherae, except they had a guest staying with them. Blair was up before the Marquess and his son and so he dined alone at breakfast. It didn't bother him in the least and gave him time to think of a way to get the pendant that was in Roy's possession, the so-called necklace that held the alleged key to the Dragon's Gate; he needed to do it at a certain time—people were already suspicious of his motives, like those two Social Knights from the other day. Roy was sure to be on his guard as well so long as Blair remained in Pherae under the Queen's "orders". Roy, after all, probably thought that Blair knew too much and wanted to know exactly how he got this information to begin with.

Blair needed the pendant, and in order for him to get it, he needed the boy, and he needed the boy simply because someone with no Dragon blood could not open the Gate even a crack. It was a safety procedure put on there by the Dragons from The Scouring to prevent humans from entering their world without a Dragon's expressed permission. Blair knew from his research that Roy's mother was part Dragon, and therefore, Roy could open the Gate.

"He and his father seem to be close," Blair mused as he cut into his smoked ham.

"I could probably use that to my advantage, perhaps."

He had a basic outline of what would happen that day in his head and wiped his mouth on his napkin. Throwing it down, he decided he was done eating and excused himself from the table, leaving his half-finished breakfast on the table for a servant to clean up. He moved from the dining area to the entranceway, which was where the main staircase was. Going up it, he decided to enact part one of his multiparted plan. He had to get the boy to come with him.

- - -

Roy woke up to the sounds of birds chirping and voices yelling angrily at each other. He sat up in bed and stretched, his joints cracking from not being used during sleep. He rubbed his neck and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling the covers off of himself as he did so. He yawned and rubbed his eyes and got up to get dressed.

"I wonder where Wolt is," the red head remarked, but thought nothing of it. Around this time, Wolt was off doing his other duties, so Roy just shrugged and dressed himself.

When Roy opened the door of his bedroom, the voices got louder as they filtered into the hall. They were coming from Eliwood's study, which was odd since no one was usually allowed to enter there except for his father and himself. It also wasn't like his father to cause a confrontation, either, which concerned Roy—something had to be terribly wrong for him to be yelling as loud as he was. He walked down the stairs, his footsteps silenced by the carpeting, and listened from where the corridor to his room met the corridor right by his father's study.

"He is _not_ going with you," Roy heard, the voice firm and unwavering. "And that's _final_." Roy could imagine a smug grin and crossed arms on his father's part, but in reality, Eliwood's arms were at his sides, hands balled up into fists.

"My lord, you are _not_ listening," the other man said, his grin smug and his voice pompous-sounding.

"The Queen wishes to see him--"

"I want this in _writing_," the marquess replied, his arms now crossed. He leaned back in his chair, while the other occupant leaned forward in his.

"Writing, my lord?"

"Yes. If it's not in writing, I have no right to believe you. We know nothing about you—you could be a spy for all we know—and I do not trust my son alone with you."

The man's eye twitched.

"But your most honourable, your son will be perfectly safe with me. Queen Guinevere has the utmost confidence in me and my abilities. I will see to it that your son is not harmed."

Roy heard a sigh.

"I'm sorry, but my answer is still 'no'. If I could have one of his knights--"

"I'd prefer if it were just him, your most honourable," the other interjected, crossing one leg over the other.

"And that is why he is not going with you."

"Alright then, you leave me no choice. He is coming with me, Lord Eliwood. By force if need be. And besides, it is really not _your_ say in the matter that counts anymore—he is an adult according to Pheraean law, is he not? He can make his own decisions." The man got up and brushed himself off.

"Now if you will just tell me where I can find your son, I will discuss this matter with him." Eliwood was about to add something when the other hastily added, "Privately, if you don't mind."

Eliwood was standing by this time, his arms still crossed.

"My son is still asleep, and it's best to not disturb--"

"Tell me where his room is, then, and I will wake him."

Eliwood bit his lip.

"Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Watch your mouth, Blair."

"It's kind of hard to do that when it's attached to my face, Eliwood."

From what Roy was gathering, the conversation was going to get really ugly, and he figured he should step in. After all, the situation was about him, or so he thought. Walking down the corridor, he nonchalantly passed by his father's study before walking backwards and peeking in.

"Father?" He spotted Blair and acted surprised. "I didn't realise you had company. If you want me to leave, I'd--"

"No, Roy," Eliwood said, cutting Roy off, "it's fine. Blair and I are done here."

"Only with this part, Lord Eliwood," Blair said, and turned towards Roy.

"I have something to...ask you, Roy, if that is okay with you." Roy looked Blair in the eye, suspicious of his intentions.

"Alright," the eighteen year old replied, figuring he was safe as long as his father was there. Roy crossed his arms, "what is it?"

Blair crossed the room and wrapped an arm around the youth's shoulder, causing Roy to feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Well, I'd like to ask you privately. Your father will only influence your choice."

Roy shrugged off Blair's shoulder.

"Pardon?"

Blair ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed.

"Well, you and your father are so close and you're so sheltered that you might not be able to decide for yourself."

Before Roy could make a sarcastic remark, Eliwood retorted, "He is not sheltered, and I do not make decisions for him. He is old enough to be able to do that on his own."

Blair had steered Roy half-way out of the room before Eliwood said something else.

"I'd rather you have whatever it is you wish to discuss _here_. With someone present."

Blair scowled and clutched the boy's arm possessively.

"And I'd rather we have this conversation privately. He does not need someone watching over him every minute now, does he?" Blair looked the youth up and down, and Eliwood did not like it at all.

"After all, from what I've heard from the Queen, he is rather skilled with the sword for someone his age. I'm sure he could cut me into ribbons if I tried anything."

Roy didn't know what Blair meant by trying anything and decided he really didn't want to know. Eliwood, on the other hand, knew what Blair meant and decided he was definitely not going to have Roy by himself with that man.

"Now if you'll excuse us, Lord Eliwood...this is urgent and it can't wait any longer. Come, Roy, take me somewhere private." With one last look to his father, he complied and took Blair out into the courtyard, which was deserted at that time of day.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," Eliwood said, and ran after them, straying far enough behind them that Blair wouldn't suspect he was being followed.

- - -

"So what is this urgent business you need to tell me?" Roy asked after he was seated on the concrete bench next to the maple tree. Blair sat next to him, uncomfortably so.

"It's about the Queen."

"Guinevere?" Roy asked, "what about her? Does she need my assistance in a matter or something?" Roy jumped slightly when Blair pulled the red head closer.

"Well yes. You see, she has important business on Valor and she needs someone with fighting expertise to...escort her there."

Roy gave him an odd look.

"But she has a whole royal guard that could escort her. I don't understand why she would be asking me. And besides, why would she have business on Valor, anyway?"

Blair shrugged and he leaned closer to Roy.

"Perhaps she fancies you and that is why she is asking for help," Blair said, looking Roy in the eye. Roy inwardly shivered, there was something odd about the way Blair looked at him...

"Also, she is interested in that necklace of yours. Come to think of it, so am I."

Roy tried to move away so as to regain some of his personal space, but Blair held him still.

"I don't know anything about it," Roy said, "other than my mother gave it to me when I was small for my birthday." Blair smirked.

"And your mother...she was one of _them_ was she not?"

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Them?"

"You know," Blair said, making gestures in the air with his free hand, "_Dragons_. She was one of them, was she not?" Roy shrugged as much as he could under Blair's grip.

"I don't know, I don't really remember my mother."

Blair was getting frustrated, and Roy could tell. His face was getting red, and his eyes narrowed as well as his grip on Roy was becoming tighter.

"I'm sure your father mentioned it," Blair said, trying to hint at something.

"Well, my father was supposed to talk to me about some things," Roy admitted, and flushed when Blair moved his face too close to Roy's.

"You mean to tell me you're eighteen years old and have never had the talk about sex?"

Roy's eyes widened and his face became redder.

"Of course I've had that talk!"

Blair smirked again.

"Well, if you didn't, I could have offered my services to...teach you."

Roy barely caught the innuendo and was deeply disturbed.

"Or, if you need some refreshing..."

Blair placed a hand on Roy's thigh, and that was all it took for Roy to stand up, his face as red as his hair.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

Blair stood up afterwards and pinned Roy against the tree.

"What's the matter, Roy? Am I scaring you?"

Roy bit his lip and said nothing. Blair leaned in closer, his face mere inches from Roy's.

"You're making me uncomfortable," Roy said. "I'm already involved, anyway. I have a fiancée who will _not_ be pleased to hear about some guy pinning her lover against a maple tree." This did not stop Blair, though, in fact he laughed.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her." He scoffed. "Not only do they say red heads are...wild in bed, but people with Dragon blood are just as wild." Roy squirmed and tried to get out of Blair's grasp, but Blair's grip tightened to the point where Roy yelped in pain.

"Let go of me," Roy said as calm as he could. "You're hurting me."

Blair licked Roy's cheek and decided he didn't care.

"S-Stop it," Roy said sternly. Blair was already kissing the boy's neck.

"I _said_ 'stop it'!" Roy shouted, and kicked Blair away, freeing himself. He rubbed his throbbing wrists and glared at him.

Blair was on his feet in no time, clutching his injured leg.

"You like it rough, huh? Well then in that case..." Blair pulled out a dagger and pointed it directly at the boy's throat. If looks could kill, Blair would be pushing up daisies from the look Roy was giving him.

"What do you want?" Roy asked, and Blair clutched at Roy from behind him, keeping the blade right by the right side of his neck.

"I want my master's final wish to be fulfilled," Blair said simply. "And in order to fulfill it, I need you and the necklace you have around your neck." Blair began to move Roy towards the inside of the castle.

"And if you try to escape, I will slice your pretty little neck right open." Blair licked Roy's neck again and got a disgusted moan from Roy in return.

"Because if I slice open where I just licked you, you'd be dead before help could arrive. And not only would I kill you...but first I'd kill your father right in front of you." Roy's eyes widened and he ceased struggling.

"Huh, there's a good boy. You'll do this to save your father, won't you?" Roy grit his teeth and refused to answer.

"That's what I thought."

By this time, Eliwood was running down the hallway when he saw Blair had his son at knife point.

"Father...!"

Eliwood growled and was about to lose his cool and maim Blair right then and there when Blair flashed the blade and pressed it against Roy's neck.

"Come any closer and the boy dies." Eliwood stood where he was, horrified and angry.

"Leave Roy alone."

"This actually has nothing to do with you, so I suggest you stay out of it."

Eliwood's eye twitched.

"Now. I have transportation waiting for me outside—they've been out there since before you and I had our little 'chat'—so if you don't mind I'll just be leaving now."

"Let him _go_," Eliwood repeated, trying to stay calm.

"But he's already agreed, Lord Eliwood, to come with me." Roy quickly shook his head and said, "I did _not_!"

Blair scoffed.

"And I've had enough of your squirming, boy. Say goodbye to your father."

"Fath—" Roy was cut off when Blair hit him over the head with the hilt of the dagger, knocking him out. Roy fell to his knees before Blair caught him. Pocketing the knife, he slung Roy over his shoulder and smirked.

"This has been a wonderful stay, Eliwood. Don't worry, your son will come back...just not alive." He laughed.

"And if you so much as send _one_ person out to retrieve him, I will kill him in the most brutal way possible...and have you watch. Consider this your only warning." And Eliwood watched helplessly as Roy was carried off by Blair.

Eliwood promptly fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

**- Four -**

He was groggy when he woke up, his head pounding from the wound he received earlier. He found himself on the cold stone floor in a small dark room. He sat up from his slumped over position, his muscles stiff, and his arm tingled from sleeping on it. His back was sore from the hard ground.

Roy examined his surroundings after his eyes focused, and noticed there was a small window just big enough for him to fit through, but it was too high, and there were bars on it to prevent escape. Unless Roy gained some sort of inhuman strength to bend the bars, he wasn't going to escape through there. There was also a door made of wood across the room from where he was, but he wasn't sure he could reach it in his current condition. He was tired and wanted to go home to be in his own bed; thoughts of soft sheets and a feather-stuffed pillow filled his mind and he nearly drifted off again. However, he jolted awake, determined to find out where he was and how he could get out.

He slowly crawled over to the door and grasped the cold metal handle. Pulling hard, he opened the heavy oak door, which made a loud creaking noise, the hinges squealing as if the door wasn't used to being opened and closed. Afraid he would attract attention, Roy only opened it enough to sneak a peek at what was outside the room. All he saw, however, were the same stone walls as the ones that trapped him inside the room, lit torches jutting out from them being the only difference. Long drab tapestries hung in the large spaces between them, the shadows from the flames making them look eerie.

There was nothing he could use to identify where he was, and he couldn't see down the other side of the corridor, his vision couldn't see through or around the doorway, and Roy was afraid he would attract attention if he tried to open the door more to see. His plan did not help, and so he closed the door and sighed.

What happened? Why was he here, wherever _here_ was? He leaned against the door and slid down, a small thud emitting when he landed on the floor. His headache had subsided a little, enough for him to think of another way to get out. He looked around the room again and examined his surroundings closer. There was a small wooden table in the far right corner of the room next to a rickety old bed, a candle lit was the only object occupying the space the rotting table had. There was a chair in the far left corner, right underneath the window; even using a chair to try to reach it was no use, for one leg was shorter than the others, and he didn't trust it. That and the window couldn't be used in an escape plan, due to the aforementioned bars. There was nothing, he realised, he could use to escape short of him walking out into the unknown and hoping for the best.

He walked over to the chair and kicked one of the legs as hard as he could. It splintered off and the chair fell over, unable to stand on its own. The sound echoed briefly throughout the room before it was silent once again. Roy picked up the length of decayed wood up, being careful to not get a small sliver of wood embedded in his hand. At least now he had a weapon of some sort, though not the best. It was better than nothing, though he would have preferred a sword. The guards must have stripped him of his weapons when he arrived.

Carefully, Roy opened the door again, this time all the way. Clutching his makeshift weapon, he looked to his left and to his right.  
_What kind of dungeon would have no guards_? he thought. There were no men brandishing spears and dressed in iron armour with helmets covering their emotionless faces. _Then again_, he thought, _they're probably on the other side of the doors_. He was pressing his luck to a breaking point, he realised. But he hoped that his luck hadn't run out yet. Being as quiet as possible, he walked up to the door down the corridor he hadn't seen before and slowly opened it.  
There was the guard. He did not look very happy, though Roy could not see his face clearly.

That was the last thing he saw before his vision turned black. 

- - -

Blair had been alerted that his captive had tried to escape and frowned.  
"Whose idea was it to have him locked up in a cage, anyway?" Blair asked, and when a guard was about to answer, the blond added, "that was a rhetorical question." The man cloaked in expensive fabrics walked nonchalantly down the corridor to the red head's room and threw open the door. After it bounced off the adjacent wall with a loud bang, he walked into the room and surveyed the scene--Roy was on the floor unconscious, it was pitch black except for whatever moonlight was shining through the barred window, and a piece of dead wood was lying a few feet away from the eighteen year old's hand, useless now.

"Guards," Blair called in a sing-song manner and clapped his hands twice. "This boy deserves better than the floor of a musky old dungeon. He is a guest of honour. Bring him up to my room and place him on the bed. I have plans for him, and I don't feel like doing them in a place that lacks light or any aesthetic appeal." Two guards came in, one of which stood next to Roy, the other one grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him out. Blair clicked his tongue thrice in disapproval.  
"No, no, _no_, you're doing it wrong." Blair crossed his arms. "You _carry_ him, not drag him. I don't want him bruised and broken yet." The guards looked at each other, shrugged, and hoisted the boy between them, carrying him out the door and out of sight.

"Hmph," Blair said, looking at the dungeon like it was a piece of filth on a brand new white shirt. "I sometimes wonder why guards are so..." He walked around a bit, surveying the dungeon that he had barely seen before, and walked through the door and up the stairs.  
"So...stupid, sometimes." He examined the dust on the stair rail and frowned. "This place needs a good cleaning, too." 

- - -

Roy regained consciousness once again, but this time there were no stone walls or barred windows or rusty old doors and dead chairs. He was not on a cold and unforgiving stone floor that made his back ache--rather, he was on a soft surface, perhaps a bed (though he really didn't look), in a room with tapestries and lamps and a fireplace. It was warm in this room instead of cold and drafty and damp. Warm and dry.

He sat up and groaned, his head hurt again, this time even worse than before. He clutched at it and rubbed at his temple, trying to ease the pain. It was not working very well. He sat against a pillow and relished the feeling of a bed--maybe he'd get some sleep after all that didn't involve a blunt object to the head. His thoughts were interrupted by the brisk _tap tap tap_ of what sounded like something hitting against wood when he realised someone was knocking on the door. Groaning again, he slid down on the bed so he could lay down and rest his aching head, completely ignoring whoever it was at the door.

"So how is my precious little captive?" the man said as he entered the room uninvited. "It would have been nice if you let me in, but I decided I would just invite myself. It's not as if you would _mind_." Blair closed the door and locked it, but Roy was in too much pain to notice. At least the tingling in his arm went away.  
"W-Where am I?" It was the first thing Roy had said since he had arrived there--wherever there was. Blair chuckled.  
"You're in Bern, my dear Master Roy. And soon you and I will head to Valor to complete some...business."  
"...Business?" Roy's headache became worse and he felt nauseous. He tried to keep thinking straight. "What kind of business?"

Blair chuckled again, this time louder.  
"You will find out in good time, my lord. For now..." Blair slowly unbuttoned the boy's shirt and removed it, throwing it to the side afterward. He turned Roy over, which made Roy feel even worse. He shivered as Blair ran a finger over the mark over his right shoulder blade.  
"This won't hurt much," Blair said as he removed a pocket knife and a glass vial from his satchel. Roy wanted to move, to get away, but he was too tired to go anywhere and he felt even worse. Blair had Roy sit up and flipped the blade open.  
"You truly _are_ one of Them," Blair said wistfully, a smirk on his face that Roy couldn't see. Roy tensed up when he felt cold metal scrape across his body, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The blade wasn't very sharp, and Blair had to go over the mark several times before any blood was shed, leaving the surrounding skin red, hot, and sensitive to the touch.

As the blood slid down Roy's back, Blair collected the red liquid into the vial until there was enough for whatever purpose it served. He cleaned the blade off, closed it, and put it away, into his pocket this time, and produced a cork with which to place into the vial, so no contents would be spilled.

Blair turned to go, his cloak swishing behind him as he did so, when Roy asked, "What do you _mean_ I'm 'one of Them'?" Blair didn't answer, and instead kept walking towards the door.  
"Answer me!" Roy yelled, his voice hoarse from disuse. He cleared it and repeated, "Answer me! Tell me who They are!"  
The footsteps, muted slightly by the throw rug by the door, stopped as the blond turned around.  
After studying the boy for a minute, Blair answered, "I will explain everything to you in time, Lord Roy. It's quite obvious your father never told you of your _true_ heritage." With a gesture to the door, he added, "I'll be taking my leave. I'll return later to retrieve...other things from you."  
Blair opened the door and almost left when Roy said, as calm as he could, "Let me see my father."  
Blair ignored him and left, closing the door behind him.

Roy, not knowing what else to do, laid down on his stomach. He wasn't sure whether to scream or cry. So instead, he grabbed for the necklace his mother gave him shortly before he died. He often fiddled with it when he was nervous or upset.  
It wasn't there.  
Too shocked to cry out, the eighteen year old made a squeaking noise and frantically searched the bed.  
It wasn't there.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up, wobbled, and ended up sitting back down to stop the room from spinning.  
Bending over, Roy picked up his shirt and put it on, though when he flexed his shoulder he hissed in pain from the open wound--it was a good thing, he thought, that his shirt was a dark colour and would hide the bloodstain. Slowly, he stood, trying to not get dizzy again, and walked over to the door. He pulled on the handle hard, but the door would not budge.

He was trapped, and there was no place to escape from.  
Falling to his knees, hand still clutching the handle, he leaned his head against the door and cried.

**Author's Notes:** Sorry it took so long, I've been busy with schoolwork and assorted other happenings going on in my life. But it's here, and it only took two days to write.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated!


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